Harold sat next to his mother silently during dinner. After being nagged for being late, he wasn't really in a mood to argue. Besides, he felt slight happiness knowing that his cousins and aunt would be leaving tonight. At least, his comfort would be back. No more midnight karaoke in the living room or unpleasant scent during tea. Aunt Vicky still couldn't cease her bragging about her sons. Sometimes it hurt him, knowing how his mother had nothing to say but merely agreeing.

"Well, thanks for the dinner," said Vicky, pushing her hair backward as she patted onto her sister. "I will be sure to drop by anytime. It's kind of you to host us. I would love to stay, but my boys have finally found a temporary home for me. How sweet?"

He barely concentrated on the rest of their conversation only to sit down at the chair they had prepared in the garden. His legs were sore from intense training and his body had been craving for rest, but he wouldn't grant them those. He needed to push past his own limits. Perhaps maybe, sinking himself in between his practices was a way to make him forget how messed up his own world is. Reaching out to massage his sore muscles, Harold glanced towards the twins who were heading towards his direction.

"You don't seem like you have lots to say," teased James, reaching out to brush his fingers onto Harold's hair, flicking the bug that has just landed on it. "You are afraid of your mother, aren't you? A mother's boy. How long do you think you are going to protect her?"

"It's none of your business," muttered Harold softly as he watched the flowers danced with the evening breeze. "Get lost. I don't wish to see you again."

Right at that moment, Vicky called out for her sons. Harold breathed in the cold air that soothe his lungs as he watched them drove away in the overdressed vehicle. He exchanged glances with his mother before heading back into their home. Even though his house was a small one unlike his cousins, he had been glad that he maintained the home through legal money. At least there is a safe roof above their head.

"What did you tell the twins?" Samantha asked facing her only son. "I told you to be nice to them. Not to argue with them. You need to learn how to respect your own cousins. They are the only family you have other than me."

Harold bit his inner lips, turning to look out of the window. He had grown accustomed to these ever since his father's passing. The need to actually succumb to his cousins' needs were more important than his apparently. Without saying a word, he headed over to the kitchen, picking up the used plates and placed them in a sink. He didn't want to cause an argument, not because of the twins and because it wasn't worth it. He pressed his lips together, trying to prevent himself from arguing with his mother as he heard her throwing him lectures about how they are family and everything.

"Look at me, Harl!"

The younger turned around, facing his mother. He wiped his palms with the cloth before meeting her eyes.

"I know how much you care for them since my uncle passed away, but mom, you need to remember something. I lost my father because of them. I am not saying you have it any easier, but each time I set my eyes on them, I can only remember the void that was created," said Harold softly. "Besides, you really need to wake up from your dreams, mother. They are not good people."

"Are you saying I am a bad mother now, Harold? I took care of you for years and this is the way you are going to repay me?" Samantha questioned, her fingers tapping onto the dining table.

"No," he muttered with a lower voice. "No. You are just too blind to see who is the best for you even when you lose someone who had been clearly protecting you all these while." 

For weeks, Harold maintained the same routine. Time was what he had been chasing. He needed to perfect each movement according to the beat precisely. Though his arms and legs went sore with the multiple different choreographs Tiberius had suggested, he felt contented knowing that his friend had indeed put in a large amount of effort to craft a unique one. These dance moves were unlike the ones Harold used to craft for him. He remembered spraining his ankles during one of the practices because he had landed on a different angle, but that did not stop him from practicing. He assured his best friend that he would be fine as long as he could pull off a show during the audition. He needed to be perfect to obtain what he wanted.

Leaning his back on the mirror of the dance room, Harold had exactly thirty minutes before Tiby would be back from getting their meals. A pang of slight guilt crept up from his chest when he watched the video where they were both in. He felt sorry for stealing Tiby's family time, considering the fact that he is now a married man. Sure, Becky never minded, but the guilt, it was there. Clicking onto the second recorded performance, Harold studied carefully at the mistakes he made, making a mental note in his mind not to repeat it again. He needed to move on to see how he is doing with the next genre which they had both selected.

Tightening his fist, Harold hoisted himself up from the ground and clicked onto the play button of the radio. The music blasted through the background as he stared right into his own grey eyes in the mirror. Ruffling his own hair, Harold loosened the muscles in his body before jumping into the patterns they had created, making a slight twist in certain places. As the beat went a little faster, Harold quickened his pace, trying to include a B-boy for the second slot only to miss a step and slipped. Instead of landing himself on the ground, he saved it with a perfect twirl.

Harold's jet back hair was drench with sweat as they floated in the air when he leaped. He could hear the sound of his heartbeat pounding with each of his powerful movements. His arms twirled, forming the perfect waves to match his feet. The mirror began to cover with slight droplets of water as he felt the heat increase in the small room. He needed this to remind him that he would manage. Somehow the heat in the dance room that revolved around him, brought his spirit up as he continued the last beats, landing a kick at the empty target in the air and stopped.

"I knew you still have some moves in you," said Tiberius' voice filled the air as he stopped the music and clapped his heavy palms together, making sure their food would not spill. "All you need to do is to let confidence to flow in you. Let yourself breathe and pretend no one is watching you. Be your own music."

Harold wiped his wet hair with a towel, pushing his fringes backward and blew out the hot air from his chest.

"Thank you, Tiby," he said, taking the food out eagerly and opened them. "I will make sure not to become a squid on that day. It has been years. I forgot how it feels like to have people watching you perform, especially those professional dancers out there who had been training continuously days and nights."

Tiberius tossed a piece of chicken into his mouth, munching it deliciously and turned to look at his friend, waving his chopsticks aggressively.

"A professional and a newbie have no differences. They are both humans, sharing the same passion. Look, put it this way, if a professional keeps bragging about how good he or she is, they won't go anywhere. They will be standing right on the same spot that even the newbie would be way much better than he or she is. What matters most is practice and practice. This is not studying history, Harold. Those school days are over. This is dancing, you can't ascend without practicing," assured Tiberius, reaching out for more chicken. "Practice is the key."

Harold rolled his eyes at the words before reaching out to hit his friend's head.

"You are spitting my words back to me, you little caterpillar, swallow it back," he said, landing a few more hit on Tiberius' thighs endlessly, causing the younger to whine and held onto his palms.

Tiberius sucked in the air around him, pretending to munch and swallow it before turning to look at Harold innocently.

"There, done," he chuckled and sipped onto his ice coffee. "Look, Harl, deep down you might be doubting yourself, but you can do it. I am here to remind you who you are. I know you miss your father because he is the one always guiding you when you dance. You might be thinking about how nice it is to have him instead of me. I don't blame you. I can't imagine what will happen if my dad is gone. I just want to remind you that your father guided you since you were four. You don't want that to go to waste. You are doing well and your father is proud of you for being able to pick yourself up again."

Harold nodded at those words. He stood up, helping Tiberius to clean up the mess they made. Growing up not trusting other people was easy because they weren't related to him. He never needed anyone's approval to be himself. In the process of losing trust for others, he found it rather difficult to even trust himself too. He kept wondering if his steps were solid or his choices were correct. Harold studied the busy streets that filled with people from different walks of life. They had been busy minding their own business to bother about the world. Even the cat by the road scrambled away hastily when a child unknowingly stepped on her tail.

Pulling himself together, Harold walked back into the studio. After a satisfying rest, he continued practicing willingly. He assured Tiberius that he would do it alone and that his friend could take the rest he needed or even return home if he wanted to. Knowing Tiberius' stubborn heart, he had expected the younger to sit and watch, pointing out the tiny mistakes he had made. Once he was told about his mistakes, Harold made sure he no longer repeated them again. Sure, there are no wrong moves in a dance, but some need to be corrected to prevent mishaps. He didn't want to risk falling over during his audition.

The more Harold felt comfortable with himself, he felt confident swirling in his veins. His adrenaline skyrocketed as he did a couple of body rolls and swayed his legs to the sides. He got more focused as time passed and even managed to add a couple of new moves to it. Rocking his body against the beat, Harold examined his footwork. Clearly, those needed more practice, but he was positive he would manage.

"Stop, Harl, really," Tiberius said rolling on the floor like a cat stuck in a cylinder tube, grabbing onto Harold's legs and laid his head on the shoes. "Come on, it's been hours. I am tired just by looking at you."

"Alright, alright. I'm stopping anyways. I promised to go home for dinner with my mom," he said softly, patting onto Tiberius' hair and knelt down. "You are younger than me for three months. How can you be tired? You sure you are not made out of water?"

"No, I am not. Come on," he said, standing up on his feet. "You need food, rest and good night sleep. See you at work tomorrow, buddy." 

Harold packed some of the things he would be needing during his audition. He tossed in the small box his father had given to him and a simple outfit that he and Tiby both agreed to use for his own performance. There wasn't much to pack, but his mind kept drifting back to when he used to do it with his father who often sang and joked with him throughout the process. 

Now, all he can do is to let himself sink into the soft sound of strumming guitar from his playlists. 

Zipping the bag carefully, Harold rolled himself onto the bed and picked up his phone to check on some urgent messages. He then turned his gaze along the higher shelves of his room that were filled with trophies. Most were in gold, but there had been a few silver ones that he accepted gratefully. He danced because he loved it, not because of fame or money. 

Sometimes, in the midst of the silent city, Harold wondered what would have happened to him if his father wasn't a dance instructor and did not own a dance academy. 

Would he still be Harold who danced endlessly on the stage? 

Can he even be who he is without his father? 

Every single corner of his childhood was filled with memories of his father. There wasn't one without him. 

Placing both his arms above his head, Harold glanced towards the dark skies, letting his mind to relax and slowly drifted into his own dreamlands. 

Word Count: 2323 words

Cumulative Word Count: 11,274 words